


Regret

by sofithethird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofithethird/pseuds/sofithethird
Summary: Jon discovers a statement written by a version of himself from an alternate timeline where things are very different.





	Regret

Jon has taken to arriving early at the Archives and leaving late. The office is frequently empty and he often finds himself wandering through the rows upon rows of catalogs stored in the depths of the Magnus Institute. He finds that his mind tends to drift toward those who have disappeared from his life in a way that still feels too raw to even fully process, let alone begin to come to terms with. He often thinks about Sasha and Tim and Daisy throughout the day and feels a sort of emptiness inside. He has not been aware of this sick, lonely feeling and then all of a sudden it had been there. And when his return to the archives yielded a distant Basira and furious Melanie, not to mention Martin... he didn’t like to think about that last time he’d seen Martin, so quickly in passing, and felt the chill of his presence. This, he felt, albeit guiltily, had left the largest dent on the emptiness he was feeling, the absence of the once calming presence of a man he had, without knowing it, grown quite reliant upon. He missed Martin dearly.

He came in later than usual one particular morning. Since waking from the coma, he found sleep to be troubling, to say the least. His sleeping hours were often plagued by nightmares akin to the horrible ones he had experienced for so many months on end. Upon his arrival in the archive, he was surprised to be greeted shortly by Basira.   
“Someone’s left a letter on your desk. Found it when I came in this morning.”  
Jon had not been expecting any mail, but they did receive mailed in statements on occasion.  
“Thank you, Basira,” he said, then against his better judgment, added, “you haven’t happened to see Martin at all have you?”  
She shrugged.   
“Not since he was in the other day.”  
Her voice softened slightly.   
“I’m sorry, Jon.”  
“It’s alright. Thank you anyway.”  
“Sure.”

Jon approached his desk with reasonable caution. Sure enough, set among the stacks of papers, folders, notebooks, and tapes was a single, thick stock envelope with his name printed heavily in black ink across the front. He picked it up, carefully tore open the seal, and pulled out a statement printed on the familiar Institute stationary used for those who gave written statements. He read the first few lines and then decided it was better just to record the whole thing as he went through it. Quickly taking a seat at his desk, he reached for the tape recorder stored in the top drawer and found it already running. Taking a deep breath, he begins.  
“Statement of Jonathan Sims, date unknown, from writing. Recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.”

The statement was in his own handwriting, given under his own name, and yet he had never seen it before. He read on.

“It feels a bit odd, after all this time, that this is the first statement I have ever written out. I should begin where I believe I entered another reality, as outlandish as it seems. It began during my dreams after The Unknowing. I had been in my own head so long, but that’s not really important. At one point in my dream, I came to a road that forked in two directions. I felt as though someone was speaking to me, though I could not really make out what they were saying. I did understand, though, that there was a choice. As I turned to walk along the right-hand path, I saw a second copy of my self split away and begin traveling along the path on the left. It is here that I believe I entered a different reality from the one I once lived in. After this, I dreamed a while longer. I think that the version of me that chose the left-hand path would have woken, and yet I slept. 

I did wake, though, eventually. The first breaths I remember were like breathing through sand, but I was awake. Martin was there in the room when I woke, his eyes tired but smiling perhaps the widest I had ever seen. Apparently, I had been comatose for nearly a year. I did not ask what had been done to finally tear me from my dreams and Martin did not offer any solutions himself, though I still suspect he may know more than he lets on.

Martin took me home in a cab that first night after the hospital released me. He came up to my flat, just as I had left it, only covered in a layer of dust and with cobwebs extending from the corners. I remember little from that night, though I do remember waking from a blissfully dreamless sleep to Martin asleep on my couch. That night he had stayed up to clean my flat of all the signs that I had been absent for a year. That morning I made him tea and when he woke I asked him to stay and he did. 

He stayed alongside me well past that first night. He helped me to slowly ease back into my work at the Archives, and though I was still feeling my need to record statements, the urge felt lessened somehow. I think now that perhaps having him there to speak with relieved me a great deal more than I would have anticipated, or even realized at the time. And so I was caught up on the year of events that had passed me by and I slowly began to fall into a routine. But it was better than before. Martin and I would go out a few times a week after work, something largely out of character for me, though I found I quite enjoyed it. At first, there was a pretense given that our time together was a friendly way to reduce the stresses and horrors still piled on from our work. And then we dropped the pretense. 

I don’t believe we ever officially established that we were dating. One night we were out later than usual and I took Martin home. We stood in the doorway under the light of a streetlamp and I hesitated, thinking of all of the dark things I knew waited in the dark around us, all the fear that could prey upon us. I knew how dangerous it was to have someone I loved in such a terrible time. And yet that night we kissed for the first time and I couldn't have had it another way even if I wanted to. The next time we went out, he stayed over with me and there was no going back after the first night I spent with him. I love to feel him next to me, his presence so warm and comforting. He makes us tea in the morning and I bring in extra blankets when it gets cold at night. 

Eventually, we moved our things together into a larger flat closer to the Institute. Our lives somehow fell into place around each other. I’m sure I don’t have to write, again, the terrors that plagued our work in the Archives, but now both of us have something to come home to. Writing this, it’s been four years since the day I walked into this alternate reality. I don’t like to think about myself splitting in two as I did. Every time I get to hold Martin’s hand or lay down beside him I think of a world in which I do not have these things, and I am all alone. Yesterday when I came across an engagement ring hidden in his sock drawer and hastily hid it again, I thought of another me, somewhere else, who does not get to marry a man he loves. 

I suppose that’s why I came in to write this statement this morning. Martin has made us dinner reservations for tonight and can barely sit still today at his desk as he tries to work. And I can’t stop thinking about another Jon, who isn’t living this life like I am. But I wouldn’t want that other life. I wouldn’t trade what I have, who I have, right now. 

Statement Ends.”

Jon set the letter down on the desk in a short second of stunned silence. Throughout the letter, he has felt his face grow red and tears come up to prick his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through to complete the recording. 

“There is no way that I can check the facts on this statement, given that I— the author asserts that they are from an alternate reality. I have no knowledge of where it came from, when it was written, and who wrote it. Given the facts and nature of this statement, the most reasonable explanation I can offer is that this is some sort of cruel trick, a joke perhaps. By who, though, I am not certain. It is impossible to know for sure. And yet… “  
Jon sighed and he could feel a lump in his throat from holding back tears.   
“I cannot help but think of my current… relationship with Martin. His evasive and lonely actions cause me great worry, as his behavior has changed so radically since I last saw him. His distance lends me a great deal of sadness and even a bit of anger at the way things have turned out in The Unknowing. It makes me wonder if perhaps, maybe, I wish I was truly the author of this statement. That this had been my path. It makes me wish that things could be different, that I had chosen a different direction in that dream. But then again, it is already too late to change the past.”


End file.
